Central City Tribune
by Maiisbuns
Summary: A collection of one-shots from the East City Writer's Workshop prompts
1. Chapter 1

AN: I wrote this for the East City Writer's Workshop discord prompt. I had listened to a poem about a guy whos grandfather ran an army surplus store after WWII and mentioned a customer bringing in his daughter to show her old war memorabilia and thought it would be interesting to write about someone watching Roy do the same.

Prompt: Write about your main muse/otp from an outsider's perspective. A minor character, a random "everyday" worker they've met etc.

Surplus

The bell for the door rings, continuing to chime as the customer walks over to the counter.

"Excuse me, your book section?" He says.

The shopkeeper walks him to the furthest shelves. It is a place that is half store, half encyclopedia. Books date back to before Amestris' founding, there are replicas of war ships, and hunting knives are kept behind glass.

"Alchemy?" He asks.

"They were all bought out." She hands him a book on the basics of chemistry. "I'm afraid you're late. Alchemy's gotten popular after the war."

"I understand. This will do, thank you."

He starts sorting through the shelves on his own, seeming to forget her presence in only moments. She leaves him to look, hearing the frantic rustle of pages as he leafs through the shop's collection.

The door chimes again, a boy of only about ten races through to the back shelves, his mother trails behind.

They spend an hour in the books, the boy's father has an arm full of them as they begin to roam. The boy darts between the rows of tables and shelves, and picking things out of bins. His mother stops him when he picks up an old scarf.

His father kneels down, encouraging him to hold it. "Do you know where that's from?"

The boy shakes his head.

"It's from a place not far from here. It's in the east."

"Roy." The mother says, but he puts up a hand and keeps going.

As he tries to gather words, he takes the garment but it looks like he's being pushed down by the weight of it.

"If you pay attention, you'll know that this is what it smelled like there."

"When you were a hero?"

"Sand and gunpowder." He says, "There were no heroes there."

His wife puts a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly, the shopkeeper feels like a guest listening to their recollection of the war. It was not a happy place, they say—they didn't win.

They point out different patterns on more scarfs and tunics—pausing for comments and answering questions. Eventually, they bring the books to the counter.

"I've never heard any stories." The clerk says, "All I remember is what was heard on the radio." But she knows that the soldiers who pass through the store are often broken men. They bring in their memorabilia, dropping off the things they'd like to forget, like shedding skin.

"Sometimes it's better that way."

Roy takes the paper bag off of the counter, replacing it with a few cenz. On the way out they tell her to remember that they are lucky people.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: It's FMA Angst Week! This is for the Sacrifice/Death Prompt.**

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Sacrifice

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Roy can't remember ever having to think about the weight of her. He remembers when they were young, he'd let her up on his shoulders where she'd reach up, plucking apples from trees. Years later he'd wade through the sand and dust as he carried her to the infirmary, when he whispered apologies she'd whisper back, telling him exactly what to say when he leaves her. Bombs had gone off over the horizon and he could feel the energy running along the ground, destroying everything underneath. Screams and wails erupted somewhere in the distance.

But here, he can't hear anything. Only silence as she bleeds out on the floor, silence as he breaks his way through to get to her, and silence when the Xingese girl mouths that it won't help.

Hawkeye feels the lightest he's ever felt her. As though everything that she is and was had seeped out onto the floor.

"You have to do something! Please!"

"She's already lost too much, blood." The girl bites her lip holding back tears, "I'm—i'm sorry."

When he's torn from her he feels a shooting pain in his hands where she'd been. Everything begins to ache as floods of colored light flash in and out, passing more and more energy through him.

Every conversation, every face, and every action throughout his life go flying past. Each memory causing a headache that grows and grows, any longer and he feels as though he might combust. The sensation of burning takes him in further and he nearly chokes from the smell. At the end is a door, the panels match her tattoo, causing him to slowly stumble forward.

The world goes black.

Roy calls out to her but he's met with the strongest wind, feeling the warmth of her hands blowing away from him. When he hits the ground the darkness remains, and he's reminded that soldier's are not allowed time to mourn.

"Someone get the Colonel out of here! Keep him safe!"

He can hear Ed running running away from him as more hands come to peel him from the ground.

When Roy was fifteen Master Hawkeye said that people are nothing but vessels. As alchemists they are to swallow the electricity of life upon birth that will cycle through them for the rest of their days. When they die, their energy is released and it changes into forms that can be found all around them, rushing from their chests as they are taken by the wind.

If energy is neither created nor destroyed then it must be possible to find her.

After two years he looks for her In the hallways of the command center. He can still hear the sounds of her boots following him down the hall. The trees cast shadows and leave a sense of her presence. In the cafeteria he tried to focus on the clatter of dishes and utensils, but all he can think about Is that she likes her coffee black, three sugars. The scent of it sticks with him for the rest of the morning.

At ten years old, when Roy had arrived at Bertholdt's home, he and Riza were nothing but whispers. They were young, believing formulas, books, and equivalent exchange would bring peace. Now, he knows so much that is too heavy to carry with him, but there is nowhere to put it down.

"It's like you're not even here."

Roy can smell the familiar scents of the ashtray, and finds a sense of relief in the echo of Havoc's shoes.

"You've hardly said a word since that day."

"There's nothing to say."

"Marco says you should be having improvements with your sight."

He can make out shapes and silhouettes, he can tell what lights are from lamps and which are just flickers of branches swaying in the sun. It should have been better than this, in time things should have become more clear.

As time passes it brings him a further distance away than where she was. When Havoc helps him outside Roy finds the first sign of a breeze and takes off running. Grass from the fields seem to tangle underneath his boots, causing him to stumble as the wind gusts pass him by.

It takes him seven years to find her again in a girl he meets in Pendleton. She has bottles lined up along the roadside, ducking beneath the grass before bobbing up and down every few seconds, firing rocks from a slingshot. The glass shatters—bursting like fireworks.

"You've got the eye to be a decent marksman." Roy says, "How long have you been practicing?"

She stands up, a girl of about twelve looks at him, her hands full of pebbles. "Seven years."

That night when on the train home, he thinks about the theory of six degrees of separation. If everyone was connected, then it had to mean little about how many people they could find, but rather how to find everyone they've lost.

In the morning, he finds Hughes in the rain, in the click of an umbrella when it opens and the sound of the droplets hitting his window sill. When the wind joins in he sits outside on the steps to the courtyard until his clothes are drenched. In just six steps Ed finds him.

"Hey, General?" He says, "Everyone's waiting for you."

"The weather it's...nice today."

"Yeah, but no one's gonna take their new Fuhrer seriously if he's getting sworn in lookin' like that."

Roy feels Ed hoist him up, walking him back into his office. He allows him to take him through the motions, gathering up a dry shirt and trousers before being ushered to the bathroom.

"This is everything you were working for." Ed says through the door, "They'd be proud. Hell, we all are."

When he steps back out into the courtyard cameras flash. Every pop of the shutter lights up the rain in constellations. The wind pushes him toward the podium. Everyone he knows is peppered across the yard of Central's headquarters; His team, the Elric brothers, Briggsmen, even the emperor of Xing.

When he opens his mouth to speak the wind calms and the rain slows, once the sun breaks he feels himself smiling at all of the faces of those before him, and for the first time in years he feels the warmth of her hands again—telling him he's home.


End file.
